


The Fortunate Fall

by areyouserial



Series: The Fortunate Fall [1]
Category: Blue Bloods (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Noble POV, Noble's Porsche, Sexual Tension in a Detached Garage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23353231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouserial/pseuds/areyouserial
Summary: High School AU where a charming and troubled Noble Sanfino has to endure late night tutoring sessions with that too-damn-righteous-but-shit-that-smile Jamie Reagan if he wants to graduate on time. This is the night Noble's car wouldn't start.Super trope-y. More exists in this universe, but this is the only part in Noble's POV. Posting this as a lead-up to something v much more mature that happens in the future.
Relationships: Jamie Reagan/Noble Sanfino
Series: The Fortunate Fall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742680
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	The Fortunate Fall

**Noble**

“It's just fucking stupid, that's all,” I complain.

Jamie glances up at me from the spiral notebook on his lap as I pace his room.

“What, you think I'm an idiot? You think I'm not gonna graduate just because of some paper?”

“I didn't say that,” he maintains. “Mr. Craig said that.”

“Yeah well Greg Craig can suck my dick,” I mutter, glancing up the tower of Jamie's CDs sitting next to his stereo.

I hear his mumbled “Nice” from the floor behind me. “What do you normally do?” He wonders. “Bullshit your way through your assignments, or do you actually read?”

“There's something to be said for the art of bullshitting,” I argue. “It'll probably get me farther in life than understanding _Paradise Lost_. You like Radiohead?” I turn and hold up the jewel case for _OK Computer_.

He lifts his gaze once more. “Yeah.”

I look at him and consider it for a moment. Not what I would have guessed.

Jamie only turns his gaze back down for a second before it self consciously finds mine again. “What?” He exhales a soft laugh.

“Can I put this on?” I propose, feeling the curve of a persuasive smile at the corner of my lips.

His cheek twitches a little before he returns a faint shake of his head. “Sure. And then this draft is back on you, alright? I'm almost done.”

“What do you think so far?” I question as I eject the disc and switch it with my pick. “You're awfully quiet.”

“... A flawed contradiction of a villainous hero,” Jamie recites. “--The Devil glorifies freedom but remains the prisoner of his own ego.”

His voice with my words makes some kind of heat flicker in the pit of my chest that I tell myself to ignore while I concentrate on finding the track I want.

“Did you write that?” He asks. “Or was that Amy?”

“What do you mean _was that Amy?_ ”

“Isn’t she your girlfriend?” He murmurs. “Thought she wrote all your papers for you.”

I swallow hard, reaching up to scratch the back of my head while I turn around. “She's not my girlfriend. We broke up a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

I shrug. “I wrote it. Is that so hard to believe?”

He lets a moment -- filled only with the mellow hum of the dreamy song -- hang there before he shifts back against the side of his bed. “It's pretty good.”

Breathing out a quiet laugh, I lower my weight to join him on the floor. “Pretty good.”

“I mean compared to some of your horseshit I had to read earlier in the semester.”

My brows pull together, half offended, half amused that Jamie would attempt an insult when we hardly know each other. Outside of forced tutoring sessions at the library, and this particular time, at his house, we run in completely different circles.

I scoff but a smile surfaces on my face anyway. “Look, I know this shit. I just have better things to do.”

“ _He knows it, but he had better things to do_ ,” Jamie echoes. “Cool, maybe they'll print that on your diploma.” He glances down as he crosses out a line on the notebook, then writes something in the margin. “You know it doesn't make a difference when it comes to your transcript, don't you? Whether you don't understand and _can't_ do the work, or you _do know_ and just choose not to work, either way, you fail. So if you _can do_ the work, why let yourself fail?”

“Believe it or not, not everybody cares about their fucking transcript.”

“Then what's the point, Noble?” He shrugs, tossing my notebook to the floor before he stretches back. “I mean why even show up to school at all? Why are you here wasting my time?”

“ _Your_ time?” My eyebrows raise.

“You think I don't have better things to do? You have one AP class, I have _six_. And varsity track. And I work. And somehow I've been in charge of making sure your ass graduates.”

“It's a heavy burden, huh?” I quip. “What, am I supposed to have sympathy for you?”

“I don't want sympathy.”

“You think any of that matters ten years from now?” I narrow my gaze at him. “AP classes and your transcript and how far up your teachers’ asses you got in high school?”

“I don't know. Look me up in ten years and we'll see.”

Adjusting, I scoot down to rest on my side, propping my head up on my hand and I have to laugh. “I will. I'll call you when I get out of rehab and see how you're doing.”

A reluctant grin grazes his face, pulling at his cheek and it amuses me. He shakes his head. “Good to know you have a plan.”

I study his face for a moment, the way it changes with his smile as he glances away. I reach out for the pen that he dropped and tap the end on the notebook. “So what's the verdict? Good enough?” Then I slide the pen behind my ear.

Jamie glances over at me and tilts his head. “I made some corrections. I think you need to expand on your argument in a couple of the paragraphs.”

“But overall--” Then I blink up at him from where I lay across the floor, my eyebrows jumping with a convincing grin. “Thumbs up?”

Another huff of amusement blows out from him. “You need an A on this paper to bring your grade up.”

“Yeah.”

“It's not there yet.”

A frustrated grunt escapes me and I turn to roll into my back. Reaching over, I undo the top button on my rumpled white uniform shirt that I'm still wearing before I manage to sit up.

“I know you have better things to do,” He reminds me. “But--” Then he picks up the notebook and tosses it in my lap. “Don't just drop it. Because it's good. Get it done, alright?” 

With a bored nod, I grasp the notebook and slowly get to my feet. “Awesome.”

Jamie shifts to stand up and without a thought, my arm reaches out. His hand clasps mine and with a flexed tension in my forearm that he matches, I tug him upright. From his own momentum, his chest collides with mine before he works his way a step back.

I swing my hand out to smack the side of his arm but somehow, _damn_ that got my heart all hot. 

“Ah… I'm gonna take off,” I announce before I bend over to retrieve the beat up paperback.

We make our way downstairs, through his big, quiet house. His kitchen glows, warm and dim from a single lamp on a far counter and I glance around for signs of anyone else. I know Jamie has a few brothers or sisters or a few of each, I can’t remember. But I know they’re all older and out of the house.

I hear shifting and movement from a room across the way and figure his parents are still up. 

“Jamie?”

“Yeah mom.”

“You wanna come in here?”

I glance over at Jamie and point a thumb to the door, shooting him a hopeful look that I can just slip out.

He wordlessly reads it and shakes his head before tipping it toward the adjacent room, giving me a murmured, “Come on.”

Leading me to a study, he stretches into the doorway and I peer in from behind him to see his mom and dad sharing sections from the newspaper between two arm chairs.

“This is Noble Sanfino.” Jamie introduces with a quick gesture over his shoulder.

“Hi, Noble,” his mother smiles.

I see his dad lift his chin over the paper before he folds it closed. “Sanfino,” he echoes with this contemplative note that I definitely don’t miss.

My mouth is suddenly parched and I swallow hard standing just opposite this imposing man who everyone knows is some big deal police captain or Marine or both. I don’t know, but I’ll pass on divulging any more information. Instead I silently summon some kind of will that he isn't able to figure out the joint I smoked on my way over here… And the other one in my pocket.

“Uh, yes,” I confirm. “Noble. Nice to meet you.”

“He's in my English Lit class,” Jamie explains. “We were working on a paper.”

“Is that your Nine-Eleven outside?” His father questions.

I clear my throat. “Yes, sir.”

Blinking hard, he merely responds with a nod. “Quite a car.”

“What's the paper on?” His mom cuts in.

“Um, _Paradise Lost_ ,” Jamie pipes up. “John Milton.”

“Oh boy,” she retorts and reaches out to take the section from Mr. Reagan.

“ _Felix Culpa_ ,” his father muses.

His wife hums a soft little laugh as she folds the paper. “The fortunate fall, huh?”

_The fuck?_

Jamie drops a hand hard on my shoulder and starts to turn me out of the room. “Exactly,” he mutters. “It’s pretty brutal. Come on.”

I manage a some semblance of a goodbye before I head to the door in the kitchen. With a simple _see ya later, take it easy_ exchange, Jamie sees me out, closes the door between us and I blow out a heavy breath as my hand dips for my car keys.

Out on the driveway, I tug open my black Porsche and sink inside. There’s a heat along the back of my neck, in my throat that I can’t get to go away. Cops make me tense in general, so it’s no surprise that Jamie’s dad gets me all uptight, just sitting there. But it’s something else.

Something about Jamie’s quiet confidence in class. He has this way of making everybody feel like an asshole. But when I’m alone with him, he elicits some kind of… calming honesty from me and it’s like he doesn’t even try.

I struggle with what that means for a moment. Why I go home and wish I could keep talking to him when up until this year, I’d never bothered. Like maybe there’s some other tie I have to him that I can’t remember.

With a shake of my head, I push my key in the ignition and twist my wrist to start it. But I’m only met with a gritty, unpleasant rattle and I let go. A brief wave of dread dips through me and my brow furrows at the unfamiliar noise. I stretch my fingers and take hold of the key once more, turn it and the engine fails to come alive, stuttering a hopeless scratch once more until I release it.

“Goddammit,” I whisper and sink back against the leather seat.

My gaze flicks over to the book on my passenger seat, then the brick house in front of me. Drawing a deep inhale to my chest, I push open the driver’s side door and sigh, “Quite a fucking car indeed.”

* * *

Jamie pulls the door open just a moment after I'd laid a hesitant tap of my knuckle there. The line between his eyebrows quirks in confusion.

“What's up?”

“Uh.” I step back from the door. “My car won't start, man.”

“Seriously?” He almost laughs, glancing out and over my shoulder. “What's going on? You need a jump?” He pulls the door closed behind him as he comes outside.

“I don't know,” I mutter, leading him back toward my parked car. Quickly, I duck inside once more. Maybe the third time’s the charm and that initial try was a fluke. I stick my key in and try again only to be met with that harsh stuttering of the engine that refuses to start.

My hand drops to my thigh and I sit back with a heavy exhale. When I turn to look out the driver’s side, I glance up to see Jamie standing right there, forearms propped above the open window.

Hanging his head, he peers in. “Want me to take a look?”

Nervously, I run the edge of my thumb across my bottom lip and take too long to find my answer. I finally let out a puff of air. “I’m not sure what you could do.”

“Do your lights work?”

I reach out and flick the headlights to prove they come on.

“It’s not your battery. You got gas in the tank?” Jamie continues his questioning before he pulls open my door.

“Yeah.”

“May I?”

I scoff a confused laugh as I look down to watch him bend over for the hood latch. “Sure, man.”

“It sounds like your engine cranks but it's not turning over,” he notes as he pops the latch. Then I hear a pleased, almost excited laugh as he steps around the car. “That’s right. Engines are in the back in these things.”

I'm not sure I even knew that. Stepping one foot out of the car, I lean over to watch him. “You think you can fix it? What, did you take AP auto shop?”

He spreads his hands. “I can check it out. At least figure out the source of the problem.”

“Maybe I should just use your phone.”

“You can.” He answers absently as he heads over to the detached garage. There he bends down and grasps the handle to lift open the door. The rickety screech of it practically echoes through the neighborhood and I glance back at his house, uneasy. After a moment, the garage lights up and he returns to my car. “You wanna go in and call someone?”

“No.” My immediate answer huffs out of me and I get out to meet him. “No. My dad will kill me.”

Jamie looks at me, exhaling a soft laugh with this sort of lopsided smirk that's… _shit_ , really fucking cute.

“I mean--” I cough a breath and step back, scratching my head and mutter, “He really will.”

He stands there, seeming to study my face, this indiscernible haze in his typically clear eyes. Then he offers a faint nod. “Okay, well--” Glancing down, he moves the cuff of his hooded sweatshirt to check his watch. “I guess we could find some sort of twenty-four hour tow service. But… there’s not gonna be an open garage at nine-thirty at night.”

I mentally run through people I know who could likely help me out. But my friends are useless. I’ve got a cousin who’s a mechanic, but he lives on Long Island 

“Look,” he starts. “For the most part, you can narrow down a car not starting to four causes -- the battery, fuel, spark, compression. Right?”

“...Okay.”

“So it’s a process of elimination.” He shrugs.

I just look at him. He can’t be fucking serious, but what’s my other option?

“Get in and take it out of gear,” he directs. “And we’ll push it into the garage.”

“Jesus,” I mutter with a reluctant turn back to the driver’s side. I drop inside, push my foot on the brake and toggle the gear shift to the middle.

Quickly, I step out and join him at the back.

“Alright, ready?” Jamie prompts and together we lean down and shove against the rear bumper. He manages an encouraging “That’s it. We got it” through gritted teeth and labored breath as it rolls forward into place.

“Now jump in and park it,” he instructs and I gladly push off of it to slide into the driver’s seat to lock the parking brake and flick the key out of the ignition.

“Pop it again,” he tells me, breathless.

I do, and turn back to see him unzip his sweatshirt and drop it on a stack of crates.

“Jamie, this is a Porsche Nine-Eleven, by the way.”

He quirks this tease of a narrowed gaze and one eyebrow twitches. “I know.”

Dismayed that he’s not the least bit stressed by this, I blow out a humorless laugh. “So this isn’t some beater you fuck around with in your parents garage, this is some hardcore German shit, dude. Like no joke.”

“I didn’t say it was a joke.” His shoulders lift defensively. “I help my brother work on his ‘71 Chevelle all the time. We replaced the intake and rebuilt the carburetor last summer.”

With a nervous swallow, I assess Jamie’s even-tempered anticipation, hands resting low on his hips at the pockets of his jeans as he waits for my go-ahead.

“I'm not promising we can fix it here,” he adds. “But we won't know until we try.”

“Alright.” I give him my quiet agreement. “Fine. Take a look but--” 

He's already bending down to a shelf where he grabs a flashlight.

Then I warn him, “Don't take anything out that you can't get back in.”

With a quick jump of his brow, he smirks, uttering a low little laugh as he comes closer and pushes up the lid of the trunk.

A knowing hiss of air blows out of me and I reach out to shove him by the shoulder.

“And I don't fuck around with a beater, dude,” he insists, clicking on his flashlight before he leans over. “Damn.”

“What do call that piece of shit Cavalier you drive?”

In a hard, offended exhale, his mouth drops open and he straightens up to ram his forearm against my chest.

Chuckling my loud laugh, I fight him off, pushing his arm away.

Jamie points a hand to his own chest. “You’re really gonna go around calling my car a piece of shit when yours won’t even start?”

I lift my hands as if to surrender and offer a shrug. “Fine.” The I turn to peer down at the engine. “Alright what are we even looking at here?”

He drags in a deep breath as his shoulders pull back. “I have no idea--”

I mutter an exasperated curse and turn away.

“I’m kidding.” He grins. “Look, first we’re gonna remove the air intake from the throttle--” He leans over to inspect the engine. “I need a socket wrench.”

There’s nothing I can really do but watch him as he moves across the garage to a drawer of tools and comes back whatever it is he needs. Then he leans over the engine once more to loosen a clamp there.

The whole moment weirdly makes me stop breathing while I watch Jamie concentrate, watch the twist of his forearm and the repeated _click_ of the socket.

“And then this--” he murmurs, moving over to another wire. “Is the oxygen sensor. We’re gonna detach that.”

I can’t help the low groan I let out when I see him release the wire. It feels way too permanent and I’m dead if this doesn’t work.

He makes his way around, unfastening and detaching until he pops loose the entire air intake and pulls the casing out.

“Holy shit, dude--” I mutter. I don’t even know what he’s holding but it doesn’t feel all that comforting seeing a giant piece of my car’s engine in his hand.

Holding the detached piece, he turns to me and touches the head of the wrench to the center of my chest. “Relax,” he tells me. “This takes time, alright? Do you trust me?”

“No.” I shake my head.

Amused, he turns and sets the piece down on the ground before he heads to the set of shelves on the wall. “I guess why would you?”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

He returns with some can of aerosol spray, shaking it in his hand. “After I spray this in the throttle, I want you to try to crank it again, okay? If it starts, you’ve probably got a fuel pump issue. If it doesn’t start, I’ll bet it’s a fuse.”

I slant him a confused look and reach for my keys again. “Which one do we want?”

“Well checking fuses is easy,” he answers, bending down to spray into the engine. “So I’m kinda hoping it doesn’t start.”

Heading over to the driver’s side once more, I slide in and try to start it. Once again, the engine attempts to crank, but no start.

“Alright,” Jamie declares from the back of the car. “See, we just eliminated two of the four--”

“I don’t know how that proves anything.” I gesture to the piece laying out on the garage floor.

“I’m gonna pop this back on.” He reaches down to pick it up and I have to laugh at something that big just _popping_ back in.

“You’re stressing me out, man,” I tell him. “How do you know which wire goes back to what?”

“I got it.”

Jamie goes to work reconnecting the air intake and I find myself settling my gaze on the way his grey t-shirt shifts with his movements, pulling across his back as his shoulder rotates, with the subtle flex of a shoulder blade. I’ve never stared at him like this and I force it away as I feel my brows flinch.

“Next I gotta find your electrical panel, and we’ll try a few things there,” he speaks up amid his focus.

“The fuse box on a Nine-Eleven is on the front driver’s side--” I hear another voice behind us.

Drawing in air, it catches in my chest when I turn to see Jamie’s dad standing at the threshold of the garage.

Jamie seems unfazed, though, as he continues his reconnecting. “Hey dad.”

“Everything alright?”

“Ah--” I speak up, taking a step away from the car. “It wouldn’t start.”

“You boys need some help?”

“Maybe,” Jamie answers. Then he relays to his dad a summary of the issues and fixes he plans to attempt.

Mr. Reagan comes a little closer to peer into the engine bay and while they carry on some over-my-head conversation, I make my way to the passenger side and reach in for my notebook and paperback. Might as well make use of my time just stranded here.

“Noble, do you need a ride home?” He offers. “Or do you need to give your mom a call? Let her know where you are?”

“It’s uh… it’s just my dad--”

“Oh.”

I swallow, my gaze darting between him and Jamie as I make my way around the car. “I could call my sister for a ride, I guess. But… I come home without a car, and…” A puff of air blows out of me and I manage a half smile. “And it won’t be good.”

“Well sure, but these things happen,” Jamie’s father reasons.

“Dad, I was thinking we check the fuses,” Jamie offers. “Maybe clean the DME relay. Or he might have a spare. That’s an easy check, couldn’t hurt.”

I hold my breath, mentally willing Mr. Reagan not to question me again about calling home. There’s two possible outcomes there: either my dad’s nowhere to be found, or he answers and fucking loses it and screams about how I shouldn’t even come home if I don’t want the shit beaten out of me. I’m not really up for facing either option just yet.

Jamie’s father takes this pensive moment to make a determination before he simply nods at his son. “You might have something there. Come in if you’re not making any progress, alright? Or better yet, call Danny.”

“Alright dad,” Jamie mutters.

With that, Mr. Reagan turns and heads back to the house.

“Look, it’s late,” I tell him. “And uh… I mean, you don’t want to deal with this all night, man. I’ll just… get a ride home and figure it out tomorrow.”

Jamie glances away to see his dad get back inside, then with a deep inhale, runs his hand over his jaw, and up his face, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t mind, but it’s up to you--”

A flick of a smile tugs at my lips when my gaze falls to the black streak he just left along his cheek and up his forehead. Shaking my head, I exhale a soft laugh.

“What?” He questions.

I reach down and grasp his wrist, turning the hand he just rubbed across his face over to show him the grease. “It’s cool. Now you look like a professional.”

“Oh damn,” he chuckles, using his shoulder to rub his face. “Ah well.” Then he wipes his cheek again with the back of his hand and inspects it.

I swipe my thumb across his face, amused. “Here.” Then again along his forehead. “And here.”

“Oh yeah?” With the guilty hand, he pushes his palm up my cheek before I duck away. “You gotta look like you helped,” he teases, then nudges me away with his elbow, a move I reciprocate.

“Yeah, you can count me out,” I tell him, making my way over to the side where I take a seat on a stack of crates next to his sweatshirt. “I’m gonna use my time on this paper, and hope you know what you’re doing.”

There’s a quiet half hour or so of what seems to be progress that passes while I get a little bit more written on my paper. Every now and then, I glance up to see Jamie with his flashlight, inspecting the panel of fuses in my car. After tugging one out, he takes it over to the nearby workbench and I see him pop the casing loose with a screwdriver.

I’ve stopped asking him to explain everything at this point. I just let him work. For all I know, he could be fucking up my car beyond repair, but something assures me that he never would. He seems to concentrate, moving around for other tools before I return to my notes.

In the silence, I pause my writing a moment and glance up to find his covert gaze lingering on me. I tap the tip of my pen on the notebook and ease back as he looks down to the piece he’s cleaning.

“How’s that paper?” He wonders.

“You said it wasn’t there yet, so I’m getting it there.”

A pleased half smile surfaces on his face. “Might as well, huh?”

“Make myself useful.”

“Alright, don’t get excited,” Jamie warns as he secures the fuse once again and goes over to the driver’s side to replace it in the panel. “But if this works, you owe me.”

“Tell me what I owe you.” I shrug. “I’ll pay for whatever you had to use.”

He finishes up, then gets to his feet. “You wanna do the honors? Come start it.”

Arching a skeptical brow, I make my way over and lower into the driver’s seat while Jamie props himself there with an arm resting on the roof.

I stick the key in the ignition, and with a firm grasp, twist it until the engine rumbles to life.

“Holy shit,” Jamie coughs a laugh in disbelief.

I let my hands go from the steering wheel, holding them up like I’m expecting the car to die any second but it runs, content there in his garage. “What’d you do?” I ask.

“Do you really care?”

“Yeah I care.” I stand up next to him.

“You had a crack in the main fuse that runs electricity to the ignition. So I resoldered that and cleaned it,” he explains. “It’s really an easy fix if you know to look for it. But if you’ve got a Porsche guy who you take it to, you might want to let him see just to check.” Then he smiles, almost surprised, laughing as he looks at me.

“Well shit, dude.”

“I know,” he breathes, proud of himself.

“So of the four things…” I propose. “The battery, the fuel, the whatever. Which one was it?”

“It was the spark.”

“The spark,” I echo.

“Mm-hm.” He hums with a faint drag of his teeth over his bottom lip. “And I wasn’t talking about money, so don’t try to pay me.”

My gaze settles on him for a moment, caught by the shine of green eyes that seem to constantly be processing everything. “So what do I owe you?”

“I don’t know.” He ponders it with a meaningful squint, then smacks my stomach with the back of his hand. “Get an A on that paper, that’s what.”

I glance down as a smile pulls at my cheeks. “Alright, I will.” Then I lift my gaze to him and manage a quick nod. “I suck at being serious. But… thank you. For everything.”

He mirrors the nod. “You’re welcome.” Then his throat clenches with a swallow and I notice the way his eyes flick down to my mouth, but then away.

_Fuck, don’t._

I keep thinking about it. About this pull I feel to kiss him and it tugs in the pit of my stomach.

“Okay, um--” I clear my throat. “Tell your dad thanks and sorry I kept you out here so late.”

He nods again. “No problem.”

With a nervous exhale, I try to look anywhere but him and I turn to get back into the car. But before I can, I quickly pivot around, winding up too close to him but he doesn’t back away. “What if I swing by and get you… Saturday,” I blurt out. “We can go drive around. And… hang out.”

That fucking smile, he’s got to stop. “Yeah,” he answers.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A relieved little laugh escapes me and I reach up once more to rub my thumb down the bridge of his nose, to his cheek to wipe away another black smudge. “God, wash your face,” I whisper. Then I shove him a step back at his shoulder and drop into the car.

Jamie moves out of the way, a smirk left curving his mouth and pushes my door closed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”


End file.
